


Skating

by Chrisoel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27654488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrisoel/pseuds/Chrisoel
Summary: After recovering from an injury that threatend to end his career, figure skating star Jaime Lannister is looking for a new coach.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	1. Jaime

**Author's Note:**

> I found these snippets of a story in a notebook from years ago and since I have totally forgotten where I wanted to go with this I decided to just post it.

"Her name is Brienne Tarth. Over there. She brought her brother back after a knee injury eighteen months ago when everyone was already lamenting the end of a promising career. You should really try.“

Jaime is sceptical. The woman Tyrion is pointing out to him doesn't give off the vibe of being a great figure skating coach.

"Can she even skate?“

"From what I've heard she's actually really good though she doesn't compete.“ She doesn't look like a figure skater at all. Tall, broad-shouldered, hunching posture. Granted, you don't need to be a world-class skater to be a good coach, but Jaime has always found it hard to listen to advice from a person who couldn't put this advice into action.

"Gods, don't make that face. I'll just go over there and ask whether she's free tomorrow, ok?“

Before he can answer his brother is already making his way over. Jaime trails after him at a save distance, stopping just close enough to be able to hear the conversation.

"Hello, are you Brienne Tarth?“

"Hm? Yes, I am.“ She shuffles her feet nervously.

"My name is Tyrion Lannister. You might have heard of my brother, Jaime. He has just recovered from an injury and is now in search of a new coach. Would you happen to have an opening?“

She looks uncomfortable.

"I've never actually coached anyone but my brother.“

"But you did so with outstanding success.“

The girl turns beet red and takes a too big gulp of her drink. Tyrion presses on.

"Could you just look at him skating? And decide then? Tomorrow maybe?“

She gives a jerky nod.

"Ten thirty in hall 4. And tell him to bring x-rays and notes he might have from his doctor on his injury, if he's ok with me seeing them. It might help.“

* * *

Jaime is there by ten fifteen. Two people are skating, and he can tell it's Brienne and her brother Galladon.

He looked the two of them up yesterday. Children of Alynne and Selwyn Tarth, the three-time gold-winners in pair skating back in the seventies. Figure skating brats, so to speak. Galladon, who is twenty-five, is three years older than his sister. Both started skating early, went to every important competion there is for children in Westeros, always in the top ten. Brienne stopped competing at fifteen, though there was no mention of why.

He watches them intently. Brienne seems to correct her brother's form. They are both good, quite good actually; they skate with impeccable technique and the apparent effortlessness of people who have spent thousands of hours with well-instructed practice since their childhood days. Galladon's postition in the rankings is by no means undeserved, but Brienne... she has this spark that cannot be aquired through training, no matter how hard, that spark that one either has or has not, that makes the difference between good and excellent. Her movements are powerful and full of a grace she completely lacked yesterday on the floor.

* * *

Galladon is coming up the stairs and smiles openly at Jaime. He is fairly goodlooking, slender with even features, pretty blue eyes and light blond hair cut in the current fashion.

"Hi! Bri is waiting for you on the ice!“

"Thanks.“ Jaime makes his way down to the brink, skates in one hand, his medical file in the other.

"Lannister.“ she greets him.

He had thought that her photo in the figure skaters' records was just a very unflattering shot from her awkward teenage phase, but she actually looks like it. Slightly too big and crooked teeth, broken nose and much more freckles than are generally considered cute. Her thin hair is even lighter than her brother's and pulled back into a severe knot at the base of her neck.

"Tarth.“ he answers and hands her the file before sitting down to put on the skates. She opens it immedeately. When he stands she is surveying the x-rays.

"Can you actually tell something from them?“

She nods.

"I'm training to be a physiotherapist. Are you in pain because of the leg?“

He shakes his head.

"No, not if I don't try to skate for too long.“

"Ok, then I'd like to see you on the ice.“ She opens the little gate and he steps on the ice.

He hadn't really noticed before, but she is tall. Taller than he is, by two or three inches at least. She hadn't looked like it yesterday because she had hunched then, but standing on blates seems to give her the confidence necessary to straighten her spine.

* * *

"Everyone is doing this jump!"

"Not everyone has your injury! The risk to fall is too great! Injure yourself again and you will never be able to skate again!"

"So you just want me to stop skating, don't you? Admit defeat, just like you did and never compete again!"

 _That_ was the wrong thing to say, he sees that the moment the words have left his mouth.

"It is _not_ defeat. Back then, yes, it might have been.“ Her voice grows more agitated. "I was fifteen years old for heaven's sake and figure skating was the one thing I was truly good at. I couldn't dance, I couldn't draw, when I tried to make a necklace it look worse than that of a kindergartener, I couldn't sing, I never managed to look pretty, never managed make-up or even just dressing nice.

"Figure skating was what I excelled at. I was better than any of the other girls in my age group. I worked harder, I made cleaner jumps, I moved more in sync with the music. And I was constantly told that none of this counted, just because I was big and sturdy and ugly. You wouldn't know anything about that because you've always been beautiful, but I can tell you, that hurts. So I stopped.

"But you know what? Two weeks. I didn't touch my skates for two weeks. And than I was back on the ice. I never entered a competition again, but I kept skating. I had realized that I had never been into figure skating for the applause and the medals but because I love with all my heart.

"Me not competing is not defeat but...“ she struggles for words, „the... the realization and acknowledgement that I am under no obligation at all“, she punctures the last two words with slaps on the barrier, "to have something so dear to me spoiled by submitting it to the judgement of other people. Other people who for the most part want to humiliate me. I skate for my dad and my brother and other people I'm close to, because I know they like it and are happy for me.

"I didn't throw my skates away like you seemingly want to do! And you might think that's poor, lumbering Brienne's way of consoling herself over the loss of a career she might have had if she'd just been pretty, but it's not. Nobody might believe me, but it's the truth!“

She pushes herself away from the brink with force and puts as much distance between him and her as possible.

"I believe you!“ he shouts after her.

"Oh, what a relief!“ she gives back acidly over her shoulder.

She goes into rapid crossovers, the anger visible in her tensed shoulders, and on the first two jumps she lands harder than she normally does, but by the time she goes into a Biellmann spin the tension has vanished and she floats over the ice as freely as ever.

* * *

Brienne's eyes are fixed on the laptop screen when he enters. It's a figure skating competition, an older one, just three or four different camera angles, judging from the costumes Jaime would estimates late sixties or early seventies.

"Your parents?“ he asks and braces himself on the chairback. She gives him a quick smile before she turns back to the screen.

"Their second gold medal.“ she says and sound incredibly proud.

Selwyn does a spin on screen and Brienne breathes in in time with him drawing himself up again.

"You know this routine by heart?“ he asks trying not to laugh. She snorts.

"This one? Jaime, I could recite every single one of their gold routines backwards in my sleep. And their silver one's. And every single recorded training."

Her smile is whistfull.

"I... it may seem a bit cruel, but I never missed her as my mum. It was always dad and Galladon and me, that was enough. But... I wish so much I could have known her as a skater. What I would give to see her skate in person just once. She was so good! If she could have taught me...“

He watches Alynne for a moment.

"You're as good as she was. Better even.“

"No.“ she says immediately.

"Yes, you...“

She turns around and gives him a hard look.

"This is my dead mum you are talking about! If I say that she was better than I am than you have no business of saying otherwise."

He raises his hands in defeat. They turn their attention back to the screen and he begins to speak while he doesn't have to look her in the eye.

"Aerys would have made me do the jump." She opens her mouth and he can see she's preparing for another argument, so he rushes on. "He would have made me do it, because the only thing that mattered to him was me winning, because it made him look good. But you are not Aerys."

"Winning that medal could mean a moment of joy, being able to skate for long years after it means a lifetime of it." she says, very, very quietly.

"I know." he says, just as quietly, "Like I said, you are not Aerys, and I am glad for it."


	2. Brienne

She spends whole days over the costume catalogues, ends up ordering five different costumes and manages to talk the seamstress in giving them an appointment the next day.

Jaime has no problem striping to his underwear in front of both her and the seamstress, but to her surprise Brienne realizes that he either doesn't see the adoring looks the seamstress throws his way or choses to ignore them but instead seems to gauge _her_ reaction. Not with the flirtous confidence she would expect from someone with his looks but instead... she is tempted to call it nervousness. She wonders why her approval would count more to him than anyone else's but she does him the favour of not hiding her staring.

* * *

When all the competitors are herded together by the photographer for a pre-competition photo she watches Jaime with satisfaction. She might be rubbish at selecting her own outfits most of the time, but boy, had she done right with his! Probably in reaction to the black-and-plain rule for the short program all the other men are clad in the most attention-grabbing outfits possible. Gold, silver, sequins and what seems to be an explosion of glitter. Jaime draws the eye with the plainess of his clothes. The clear blocks, black trousers, green shirt - just a shade darker than his eyes, accentuating them - with the small stand-up collar and slightly puffy sleeves, three buttons highlight his beauty. He looks like a fairytale prince.

 _The calm in the eye of a glitter storm_. she thinks when he takes his place in the middle of the group.

 _Calm_ seems to be what he thinks as well, because when they do the individual video shots they will play for the audience later, where they show the skaters while reading their name, age, region and scores from the short program he doesn't smile and wink a the camera like most the others, but simply raises his chin a fraction and looks point blank in the camera for the full ten seconds. Two or three of the others try the same, but he is the only one with enough confidence to pull it off. He doesn't fidget, lets his serene beauty do its magic.

* * *

He is the seventh in line so they watch the first competitors from the ranks. Or better, she watches. He sits next to her, feet planted a shoulder width apart, underarms resting on his thighs, head bowed and eyes closed. She doesn't know whether he is religious, but he might be praying. She shouldn't have put him in this outfit. Shouldn't have told him to let his hair open. She has a hard time to keep herself from stroking it. She concentrates on the skaters on the ice instead.

The first one is lucky to be the first, because that's at least something memorable about his performance.

The second one falls on a jump in the middle of his routine but manages to make it through the rest without mistakes.

The third is perfect when it comes to the technical side but lacks passion.

The fourth she watches most intently, because she thinks he is the greatest danger to Jaime. He scored full points in the short programm and his long programm is pretty good as well.

She doesn't bother watching the fifth because they have to make their way down to the brink now. She lightly touches his left forearm and he surprises her by grabbing her hand with his right. He has opened his eyes now but doesn't look at her. He seems to be calm, but his hand on hers is slightly sweaty. Brienne turns her hand to squeeze his. He gives her a short smile and stands.

* * *

She watches him fasten his skates with methodical movements. Gives him an encouraging nod when he stands and walks to the little gate in the balustrade. He steps on the ice and she takes her place directly at the brink. The screens show his introduction video.

"Jaime Lannister, 32. Westerlands. Four point five points in the short program, therefore ranked second."

He uses the last moment without live cameras on him to turn back to her.

"For you." he whispers and than he is gliding away.

After a few rounds of warm up he takes his starting position and nods towards the judges.

The music starts and Brienne is mesmerized. She knows this routine, hell, she has invented it, skated it herself, seen him do it a hundred times but today, oh, today it is ten times more perfect than it ever was before.

The slow, calm strides at the beginning. The acceleration with the crescendo - and then, at the climax of the phrase he does his first jump, and she hears the entire stadion suck in their breath.

* * *

He seems as dazed as she is, when he takes of his skates and slips into his shoes.

They begin walking and she can only stare at the back of his head. She has trained him for over ten months, it shouldn't surprise her how good he is, should it?

She doesn't wake from her haze until she hears his skates crash on the floor. They have made their way into the building and they are completely alone. He has turned and there is fire in his eyes.

"Good?" he asks.

"Divine." she says and then his hand is firmly gripping the back of her neck, his mouth hot and hungry against hers.

In retrospect she might have seen this coming. His partly heated, partly wistful glances in her direction weren't exactly subtle, but she has trained herself so much to never, ever get up her hopes in that department it takes her completely by surprise. For a moment she can hear the voice of insecurity faintly growing in her head, but this time, she decides, the risk is worth it. She allows herself to leap into whatever it is and returns his kisses with every bit as much fervour.


End file.
